Grace Is A Four Letter Word.

Have you ever wanted something so bad that you’d do practically anything to obtain it? Your every spare thought and spare prayer on it as though no matter how many times the word no came at you there was still some innate belief that you should continue to pursue in these ways? Each of those no’s was like a dagger piercing and twisting in you. Even worse is coming to the understanding that this wall truly was not intended to be broken through and in that there is relief but it’s also like putting your own knife in your wrists and pulling upward. Either way you lose but it was a rigged game to begin with and only one ending to reach.

Over and again my best therapy is to write through my dark times. Others may talk to a friend, go to the gym to sweat it out or try to drink it away. Healthy or not people cope and deal differently, this isn’t news. I don’t do it to wallow and I definitely don’t do it to spread the misery but when it comes out it gets lifted from my chest, somehow. Holding onto any negativity is poison to the mind so if I can dump it quickly I will.

Doesn’t help that the world is upside down in this man made government controlling social experiment which, by the way, is really starting to piss me off more than anything but hey, that’s another posting. I guess I included that mental note to say that even more negative pressure on top of an existing weight compounds the situation. It’s not helping.

I don’t know how to do everything gracefully. I can make you happy at my own expense. If I’ve already made a hole in your subconscious there’s nothing I can do to repair that. It goes the opposite way as well and with anybody, even groups of people. We aren’t designed to make everybody happy and do it in style. But self-failure is the strongest in not being able to do a damn thing about a scenario and all you actually do is make it worse.

So we’re back to the attempted self-murder. But what a cop out that would be. Give me pain ’cause I need to feel something real. Maybe enough of it will wake me up to realize what the eff am I doing. The pleasure in its miniscule form is not worth the mountain of pain it came riding in on. The brick wall I’ve been knocking on with my forehead is crimson red and I’m not a masochist. So I press on. We press on.

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